


But I can only stand here–I cannot move to follow

by diana_hawthorne (dhawthorne)



Series: Private Lives [13]
Category: Law & Order
Genre: Adultery, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-25
Updated: 2018-11-25
Packaged: 2019-08-29 10:13:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,053
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16742080
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dhawthorne/pseuds/diana_hawthorne
Summary: After--and she has no sense of how long after--he pillows his head on her chest and sobs. She holds him tight, wanting to help him, wanting to take away his pain, but she knows she can’t. What else can she do but hold him tight? She strokes his hair and watches the light glint off her diamond engagement ring, a symbol of the distance between them.Set in August 1998.





	But I can only stand here–I cannot move to follow

It’s been a hellishly long day--two seminars at Barnard in the morning, late appointments at her office, drinks with Jack McCoy to check in with him per Adam’s request. Even though she stopped working for the city six months ago in favor of teaching at her alma mater she feels a personal responsibility to him after Claire’s death. Two years have passed but she still can’t believe that Claire is gone… neither can Jack, it seems.

He spent the hour at the bar avoiding any mention of Claire, instead speaking of this new task force that Mike was a part of. She felt Jack watching her carefully as he talked about him, the way he is now… fuelled by a single-minded goal to get back to Manhattan. As he talked about the failed arrest yesterday, the shooting of the head of the Uzielli family by his son, she felt a pang of sadness on his behalf. His last chance, gone… she excused herself abruptly and left the bar, pleading the lateness of the hour to cover her exit.

She takes a cab back uptown, pressing her forehead against the glass as the city passes by, thinking of him. It’s been a year and a half since she’s seen him, talked to him… the night after she got engaged was the last time. So much has changed since then. She absentmindedly twists her wedding and engagement rings around on her finger, feeling the sharp corners of her square-cut diamond graze her palm.

Ben… seven years ago she never would have thought they’d be married, but he’s a good man, a good husband. He loves her so much, and she does love him too. They’ve been married for just over a year… a comfortable year, a year in which she’s felt safe and loved. But it’s still been a lonely one, as her life never was with Mike. She feels diminished without him.

The cab pulls up to her building and she sighs, knowing she will come back to an empty apartment. Before Mike she relished it as a haven from her work; with him, she loved coming home and knowing he would be there, waiting for her. After Mike, before Ben, it was lonely, and now that Ben is halfway through a month-long book tour it is lonely once more. She misses coming home to him, to his quiet affection, even if he isn’t Mike. She sighs, pays the driver, and turns the corner to the side door of the building. She stops abruptly as he steps out of the shadows.

‘What are you doing here?’ she asks, caught off-guard, wondering if she conjured him from her longing to see him.

‘It’s all gone to hell, Lizzie,’ he says, stepping forward, hand outstretched. She shies away from him, stepping past to unlock the door. He follows her, close on her heels. ‘I need you.’

She presses the button to summon the elevator, refusing to turn and look at him. He steps into the elevator, following her, and she makes no move to dismiss him. He takes the keys gently from her hand and unlocks the door, his hand hovering just above her back as she steps into the apartment. He closes the door behind them, doing up the locks, and she glances at him under her lashes.

He looks exhausted, beat-up, worn out. This task force--widely reported in the papers, on the news, by her friends and former colleagues at the 2-7 and the D.A.’s office… She hasn’t seen him like this since she was raped, since Phil was shot.

‘I can’t help you the way you want, the way you need,’ she says quickly, lowering her gaze before he turns back. ‘I’m married now.’

‘I know,’ he says, his voice so bleak and empty she wants to cry. ‘So where’s Ben?’

‘Away.’

‘When’s he coming back?’

‘Two weeks.’

‘Lizzie--’

She looks into his eyes at last. He steps closer to her and reaches out to rest his hand on her cheek. She closes her eyes and takes a deep shuddering breath, overwhelmed at his presence, his touch.

‘I’m still in love with you,’ he murmurs, running his thumb along her cheekbone. ‘Oh, Lizzie, I need you so much…’

Why was it so easy now that they are no longer together for him to proclaim his feelings? She opens her eyes slowly and looks at him. ‘Mike, I can’t help you.’

‘You can,’ he murmurs persuasively, slipping his other hand around her waist. She lets him to bring her closer, her hips pressing up against his. Her breath catches as he allows his hand to drift lower, fingers running down her jaw, her throat, tracing her collarbone.

‘Mike,’ she says again, but her voice lacks any conviction. ‘We can’t do this.’

‘Lizzie,’ he says, looking down into her eyes. She meets his gaze, seeing his heartbreak, his need, his desperate love. She knows she must look the same.

She brings her hands up to his chest to push him away, catching sight of her wedding and engagement rings. ‘I’m married.’

He ignores her, dropping his hands to her waist to yank her blouse out of the waistband of her skirt. He slips one hand up beneath her blouse, and at the touch of his hand the heat rushes to her skin. She breathes his name involuntarily and he pulls her closer.

‘It’s been so long, too long, Lizzie,’ he murmurs, bending his head to kiss her neck. She moves for the first time, raising her hand to run her fingers through his hair. ‘You know you missed this.’

He unzips her skirt suddenly, the fabric slithering down her legs, and she exclaims in surprise, ‘God, yes!’

He raises his head and looks up at her, his eyes dark with arousal. She feels faint, swamped with love and desire.

‘Mike…’ she says weakly, ‘we can’t.’ He grins.

‘Of course we can, Lizzie, I need you…’ She opens her mouth to protest and he stops her words with a kiss. She responds immediately, everything else falling away, and she moans in disappointment when he pulls back to unbutton her blouse. ‘God, you feel so good, I’ve missed you, needed you so much…’ he says, his voice low and hypnotic, trailing kisses down her neck. She gives up trying to protest, bringing her hands around to unbuckle his belt.

He pushes her blouse off her shoulders, capturing her lips again. She abandons her task and wraps her arms around his neck, pulling him closer.

‘Please, please,’ he begs her softly, kissing her temple. ‘Please, Lizzie, please sweetheart…’

She nods, unsure that she can speak without crying, and he wraps his arms around her so tightly that she can hardly breathe. He releases her after a moment and looks into her eyes.

‘The bedroom?’ he says, his voice low and tentative.

She nods, taking his hand and leading him back down the hallway. His other hand lifts her hair away from the nape of her neck so he can kiss her there. She stumbles, knees going weak at his touch, and he moves to lift her up. She wraps her arms around him, closing her eyes as he carries her through to the bedroom, imagining this was three years ago and he was bringing her to bed after a long day apart.

But as soon as he enters the bedroom she feels him tense and she opens her eyes. ‘This has changed,’ he comments, setting her down gently on the bed. Despite his urgency a moment ago he now prowls restlessly around her bedroom, taking note of everything. She watches him and as each second passes she regains a bit more awareness of what she’s doing.

‘Mike--’ she says, blushing profusely as she realizes what’s happening. She’s cheating on her husband, or about to, and--she draws her knees up to her chest, hugging herself tight. Oh, she wants him, but she can’t, can’t do this--

He turns around from his perusal of the photographs on her dresser and looks at her, eyes hooded and unreadable.

She flushes with embarrassment and desire. ‘I can’t do this.’

‘Why not? You happy with your marriage, Lizzie?’

‘It’s none of your business,’ she snaps.

His voice is soft and drawling, almost cruel. ‘Really? None of my business? You wouldn’t be here with me if it was good.’

‘You forced your way in here. I didn’t invite you in.’

‘You didn’t say no. You didn’t ask me to stop.’ He turns away from her again and picks up their framed wedding photo, studying it with absorption. ‘Tell me, Liz, how does it feel to be Mrs. Stone? Is it everything you dreamed? Big white wedding in your childhood church, reception at the yacht club, perfect lawyer husband taking you on a honeymoon in Europe?’

‘Stop it!’

The picture frames rattle as he slams the photograph down. ‘Deep down I always knew you were never gonna marry me, Mrs. Stone, but I didn’t think you’d want him.’

She flushes again, this time from anger. ‘I didn’t take his name.’

‘Oh,’ he mocks her. ‘Well then, Dr. Olivet, let me ask you again. Are you happy with your marriage?’

‘I want you to go,’ she says, her voice unconvincing even to herself.

In an instant he crosses the room, standing in front of her. ‘No you don’t. You know you don’t.’ He caresses her ankle, sitting down on the bed next to her, suddenly and unaccountably tender. ‘You look so scared, Lizzie. When’d you start bein’ so scared all the time?’

His insight sends a chill straight down her spine and she closes her eyes. Long minutes pass before she whispers, ‘after you left.’ 

His grip on her ankle tightens possessively and she yelps in pain before he slips his fingers beneath her chin, urging her to look up at him. She keeps her eyes closed and she feels him move closer, then feels his lips on hers. It’s a small kiss, a tentative one, and when he pulls back she opens her eyes. He is so clearly in pain it hurts to look at him. 

‘I need you. I need you so much. Can you--? I need your help, Lizzie, please--’

Her words are reluctant though her heart is beating so loudly she’s sure he can hear it. ‘What do you need from me?’

‘You know--please, I need you.’

She doesn’t respond and he moves closer, sliding his hand up her leg, then between her knees. ‘I want you. I need you. Please, Lizzie--let me in.’

She can’t bear to hear him beg and besides… she needs him too. Meeting his eyes, she nods, and a second later he’s all over her, tearing off her bra, yanking off her underwear. His pants are the next to go, then his shirt tugged quickly over his head, and he kisses her hard as he settles himself between her legs. 

‘Lizzie, can I--?’ he begs, looking down into her eyes.

‘Yes,’ she whispers, giving him permission. She wants him, he knows that, and it’s clear he wants her too.

He doesn’t need any other encouragement. ‘Oh, Christ!’ he bites back his exclamation as he thrusts into her. There’s nothing gentle about this and she cries out as he pulls her to him. It’s so different from being in bed with her husband… so different, too, from when they were together. This raw need terrifies and arouses her; they’ve never needed each other so much. She moans as he thrusts hard, feeling like she’s on fire, burning.

‘Goddamn it, Lizzie, please, I’m so close, you’ve gotta come--’ he pants, trying to get a grip on himself, making an enormous effort to still his movements and look into her eyes, his gaze wild, ‘--please, what do you need?’

Not waiting for an answer, he lowers his hand to touch her, applying just the right amount of pressure. She hears herself gasp, sees his triumphant grin, feels that familiar desire uncurl low in her belly. Sensing how close she is, he stops to adjust the angle before he starts to thrust again. This time he has it right and it’s only a matter of moments before she topples over the edge and he follows. 

 

After--and she has no sense of how long after--he pillows his head on her chest and sobs. She holds him tight, wanting to help him, wanting to take away his pain, but she knows she can’t. What else can she do but hold him tight? She strokes his hair and watches the light glint off her diamond engagement ring, a symbol of the distance between them. When he rolls off her at last, their bodies separating with difficulty, he turns away. She moves closer, pressing up against him, then drapes one arm over his waist and kisses his shoulder. After a long moment one hand reaches out and grasps hers, and he falls into an exhausted slumber, still gripping her hand like a lifeline. 

 

She wakes up early, just when the sun begins streaming through her window. Exhaustion swamps her; she barely slept, feeling so guilty for what they did and sore, too. She’s sure she’ll have bruises where he gripped her last night. But she would do it again in a heartbeat. He needed her… she’s never stopped loving him. So… what next? They need to talk. She wants to try again, she’s only ever wanted to be with him, but they have so much to discuss first… so much has passed between them.

He’ll need coffee when he wakes up, certainly before they talk. They’re New Yorkers and his dependence on caffeine is especially pronounced. Stroking his back softly, she rolls out of bed and wraps herself in her robe. She can bring him coffee in bed, then they can decide on breakfast, and then they can talk.

The chore of making coffee soothes her jangled nerves and she takes her time in assembling everything. She still remembers how he takes his coffee--black and two sugars. She pours the coffee once it’s finished, adding a bit of milk to hers, before taking a deep breath and walking back into her bedroom.

He’s awake now, mostly dressed, sitting down on the bed to pull on his shoes. Her heart quails and all the tentative joy she felt vanishes.

‘Good morning. I brought you some coffee,’ she says, pushing down the sudden terror that strikes her heart as she looks at him. She’s never seen him quite like this, cold, angry… surely he has no cause to be?

‘I hope you didn’t think I was staying for breakfast,’ he says.

‘I thought--I thought we could talk.’ She hates how her words falter.

His laugh is hollow and cruel. ‘Oh, come on, Liz. This was a one-night stand--surely you should recognize that.’

‘It doesn’t have to be,’ she protests. ‘Mike, I want to talk--’

He stands up from her bed and faces her. ‘Why? There’s nothing to say.’

She swallows, then turns to set the coffee down on top of Ben’s dresser. ‘How can you say that?’ she says, addressing her feet. ‘You said--you said you were still in love with me. I’m still in love with you. We can try--’

‘I lied.’

She jerks her head up at that, looking at him in the mirror. ‘What?’

He shrugs, just barely avoiding her gaze. ‘Why the hell would you think I was still in love with you? Christ, you’ve dumped me twice now. I don’t wanna go on wasting my time with you.’

Her lower lip begins to tremble and she turns to face him. ‘But--’

‘You’ve always been good in bed, so why not come over here, I thought. I needed a fuck and you’ve always been willing.’

‘Mike--’

But he’s on a roll now, spewing contempt. ‘I didn’t want to be alone and I figured that it would be easy enough to get you back into bed with me. You’ve always been easy and last night proved nothing’s changed. Didn’t feel like goin’ to the effort of pickin’ someone up in a bar.’

How can he be so hurtful? She can’t even open her mouth to protest; she is frozen in shock.

‘Christ, Elizabeth, do I need to spell it out for you? I pretended to still be in love with you and it took five seconds flat to get you to forget your marriage vows. What a loyal little wife you are.’

She summons up all her strength to say one word. ‘Stop.’

He ignores her. ‘Well, it doesn’t matter. You’re not my wife, thank Christ, but you’re not a bad fuck even if you’re clearly out of practice. Mr. Stone no longer finding himself captivated by your dubious charms?’

She doesn’t respond and she closes her eyes, feeling tears slip down her cheeks. ‘Mike, why are you saying these things?’

‘Hell, honey, you always told me I should tell the truth. So should I go on? You’re too goddamn timid to do anything any more, you don’t give a fuck about anyone except yourself--not me when we were together, clearly not your husband--this wasn’t even my first stop--’

‘Stop it!’ she practically screams, tears coming faster, harder. ‘It’s not true, Mike, stop, stop please. You’re hurting but you don’t need to take it out on me. Talk to me. Let me help you. I love you.’

‘You’ve never been able to help me,’ he yells, so hurt and angry that she’s completely terrified. ‘Don’t you understand that? Christ, you’re still so goddamn arrogant, acting like a single word from you can fix everything. Well it can’t, not anymore, probably not ever.’

‘Please, Mike, it’s not true--’

‘Yeah it is,’ he tells her, his words holding a deadly finality. He still won’t meet her eyes. ‘Well, thanks for the fuck, anyway.’

She can’t stop crying, shocked and astonished, her sobs torn from her throat. What’s happening? Why is it coming to this? This isn’t fair! This can’t be happening.

‘Please don’t go--’

He ignores her and a few moments later she hears the front door to her apartment slam. How did this happen? She crumples to the floor, shellshocked.

**Author's Note:**

> The title comes from the Judy Collins song "Houses."


End file.
